Minn Dóttir
by sparki111
Summary: Life goes on. It doesn't wait for anyone - not even Tessa. For as long as she can remember she's been alone; even her mother hasn't won the key to her trust. But when seemingly supernatural powers turn her very existence upside down, she comes face to face with the father that she never knew - and the monsters that hide in his past, threatening to destroy everything they hold dear.
1. Prologue: A Child Who Looks Like Me

**Hey guys! New story time – always excited for new stories. I have a lot on my plate at the momento, so if this doesn't read so well to start with, I'll probably ditch it after the first few chapters. BUT, I kinda like the idea/plotline, so I hope you guys do as well!**

**All rights to Marvel, I own nothing blah, blah, blah… Enjoy!**

* * *

_There is a child; she looks like me_

_As I am, as is she_

_Years from now, she will never be free_

_My smile, her haunt,_

_My eyes, they taunt_

_And my emptiness, so hollow and gaunt,_

_Her they scar, to her they cling,_

_A lingering reminder of my curse, my sin,_

_And still as memories of darkness they sing,_

"_You will never be more than what I am."_

* * *

The baby screamed and it screamed and it screamed.

It wouldn't eat; the nurses had never seen it sleeping. It just lay there, alone in its plastic box, and cried.

The other babies cried as well. But this was a manic shriek, and Darcy was afraid to go near the thing. As she stood by the glass window, Darcy listened to the whirring and beeping of the hospital's machinery. She felt a sharp ache stab at her shoulder, and she made to stretch her arm. But her elbow became tangled in the plastic tube, and tugged painfully at her cannula.

"Shit." She frowned as she went about untangling herself. Even though she had held onto her morbid childhood fear of needles, Darcy was glad that the contraption had been invented. Even though it was frustrating and more than a little embarrassing to drag the thing around all day, she knew that in its own, electronic way, it was keeping her alive. She hadn't eaten since her admission; if it weren't for the cannula delivering several doses of liquefied nutrients and essential proteins every three or so hours, Darcy would be dead.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal pole, and absently rocked it back and forth, back and forth on its little wheels. She had been stuck in the hospital for over a month; there was no sign of leaving.

As Darcy gazed into the nursery, she felt a twinge of sadness. The babies all looked peaceful; even the blue bundle that was mewling in the corner seemed content. But her baby wasn't there; it was lying somewhere in the hospital on an operating table, unconscious and helpless, surrounded by a bunch of people who had spent the last month trying to figure out what the hell was the matter with it.

As she clung to the peaceful scene before her, Darcy realized what it was that was troubling her most – more than her baby's absence, more than the constant question of "What now?" It was the fact that if the baby didn't return from surgery, Darcy worried that she wouldn't care.

_What kind of person – mother – does that make you?_

In the past nine months, Darcy had nearly died twice. The second incident had led to the immediate removal of the baby – prematurely. Minutes after the operation, her child had been declared dead. Darcy's grip on the pole tightened, and she tried to recall those emotions:

Helplessness.

Anger.

Sorrow.

But then – miraculously – the baby had started to breathe. And to scream.

Although Darcy would never admit it, she had always secretly believed that her baby would be perfect; a small part of her still hoped that it was.

_There will be nothing normal about this child._

But Darcy hadn't listened; she hadn't wanted to. She'd thought – like an idiot – that if she just clamped both hands over her ears and walked away, everything would be alright.

But whenever she saw the baby, the sight of its slit-like eyes filled her with terror.

The baby always screamed.

It screamed as she drove home from the hospital, nearly two months later. And it screamed as she carried it through her door for the very first time. The apartment was tiny; Darcy didn't mind the small space, but simply being alone with the baby made her feel claustrophobic.

For the first time, Darcy tried to feed it. It cried and cried and cried, and in its frenzy, it bit her breast so hard that she screamed. Even though it was yet to grow teeth, it felt as though razors were clamped into her skin. Darcy pulled the thing away, and left it screaming in its sheets. Across the room, she lay down and cried.

The baby continued to scream, and Darcy buried her face in her hands and shrieked, "Shut up! Just. Shut. Up!"

The baby cried harder.

* * *

Such a tiny creature she was, and yet, he could sense her power.

_Can I take what is rightfully yours?_

Darcy had forgotten to close the window, and now, the night air blew unchallenged into the tiny bedroom. Loki hardly felt it trailing across his face, but even he could tell that the air was wintery. The old curtains fluttered quietly; every now and again, the material would wrap around Loki's body, and he would irritably swat it away. He supposed that he could draw them closed, but he revelled in the moonlight that flooded the room. It was cold and pale, and a welcome change from the harsh sunlight that plagued him throughout the hours of day.

But perhaps he would close the window. Because the moonlight fell upon the makeshift cradle, and illuminated the child that slept there. She was swaddled in cloths, but Loki could see her; raven hair, like his, skin as porcelain as his own. She slept fitfully, it seemed. Her breathing came in gulps, as though her tiny lungs were struggling to support her fragile body. Standing beneath the moon's fingers, Loki frowned.

"How weak you are," he whispered. "How pathetically mortal."

The rustle of bedclothes drew Loki's eyes across the room. On the floor-bound mattress, Darcy sighed in sleep. After a moment, she turned beneath the blankets, and then, all was still. Even though he knew that she slept soundly, Loki watched her unblinkingly.

"_If you ever come near her, I'll kill you."_

He let his gaze fall to the child who slept before him. Loki had never held the girl, but in the deepness of his mind, he knew what her tiny body would feel like against his arms. She would be soft, and warm and everything that her father was not.

_Her father._

Loki felt something stab at his chest, and he turned away from the slumbering babe, chastened.

"You are nothing but a child," he hissed forcefully, as though the girl could hear him. "And _you _are _nothing _to me."

Loki turned, grim determination etched across his features. He stretched out a slender hand. His fingers – long and lean, like the fine weavings of a web – hovered above the babe. He could feel power throbbing beneath his skin. But this pulse – this unique, twisting magic – did not belong to him.

It belonged to the child. Loki's hand faltered.

_Can I take what is rightfully yours?_

Loki jerked his wrist upwards, and instantly, the girl stopped breathing. The silence was so dense and so complete that Loki had to look away from the lifeless form that lay tangled in the sheets. He had little time; the line between life and death was blurred at best. But he found himself frozen.

He held the life of his daughter in the palm of his hand.

_No. Not my daughter._

Loki narrowed his eyes, and reached down into the bed. His fingers closed around the child's body, and squeezed themselves tight. For a moment, he felt nothing. Time seemed to stand still, and Loki closed his eyes.

Then she gave a little cry, and he felt her chest rise with a shuddering breath.

The child was alive. But the power he had felt only moments ago was gone – destroyed, like a winter flake in in a candle's flame. It tingled within his hand for a time, but all too soon, even that lingering reminder of who the girl might have been ceased to exist. Bowing his head, Loki stepped away.

"It is done," he uttered.

Beneath the sheets, the babe began to stir. Her eyes remained closed, but her arms reached for the air, searching for something that was only real within the world of her dreams.

* * *

Something woke Darcy.

For a moment, she lay still, and as she did, she searched through her sleep clouded mind, trying to decide exactly what had caused her to stir. The silence around her was complete - almost blissful.

_Silence._

Darcy pulled herself up, and sat upon the mattress. She felt suddenly uneasy; the apartment was quiet, eerily so. She strained her ears, searching for a cry, for the faintest whimper. But there was nothing.

_It's dead._

Slowly, Darcy climbed to her sleep. Her back ached from sleeping in the mattress for so long. But as she crept across the room, she barely noticed the pain.

_It's dead, it's dead, it's dead. _The thought was maddening.

When Darcy reached the cradle, she stopped, and closed her eyes. She waited to feel something; fear, panic, remorse. But there was nothing. Only that same, sickening uneasiness that refused to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, Darcy's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed down at the baby.

She was awake, and she was staring at Darcy.

The world stopped turning; the dirty walls and creaking ceiling faded into nothing - Darcy couldn't even feel the stained carpet beneath her feet. She'd never seen the baby's eyes before; not really. They were always closed, or scrunched, or red with tears. But now, they were wide and clear, and green.

Her baby had green eyes; the deepest of greens. Emerald green, just like her father's.

_Just like her father's..._

A sob escaped Darcy's mouth, and she pressed a hand to her lips. The baby blinked up at her. And then, it lifted its tiny arms. Its perfect little finger flailed in the darkness, reaching for its mother. It opened its mouth, and Darcy braced herself for the scream.

But all that came was the smallest, most perfect laugh that Darcy had ever heard.

Leaning down, she took the baby in her arms. She was so light - much lighter than any baby Darcy had ever held. But she fit perfectly into the crook of her arm. Her little body was warm, and Darcy let her eyes fall shut as she savored the feel of the child against her chest.

_Her child._

Within moments, the baby was asleep. Overcome, Darcy sunk to the floor. She held the sleeping child, and smiled down at her peaceful face.

"Hey there, Tessa," she whispered.

The monster was gone, and in it's place... her daughter.

* * *

**Reviews would be great guys!**


	2. Run, Rabbit, Run

**Chapter two is here; sorry it's taken so long. A massive thank you to Koneko156 and Lady-Finwe for their favourite/following – you guys are wonderful!**

**Sparki: I own nothing! **

* * *

_Run, rabbit, run, run, rabbit, run!_

The words played over and over again in her mind, accompanied by a sickeningly cheerful tune that made Tessa want to scream. But she didn't; she clenched her jaw, and leapt down the stone stairs. The toe of her boot caught a crack in the cement, and she stumbled, landing askew on her ankle. She cried out in pain, and immediately bit her tongue, silencing herself.

_You idiot!_

She tried to move, but her foot refused to take her weight. Her knee trembled, and Tessa leant into the metal railing. She must have landed harder than she'd first realised, because she could feel her ankle swelling and burring inside her boot. Tessa threw a glance over her shoulder. She couldn't see anyone; she'd lost sight of the cops long ago. But she could hear them – shouting to one another, their steps pounding on the concrete. They were gaining on her.

Desperately, Tessa looked around. All the factory comings and goings were bolted fast; she was trapped in the side street.

An alleyway stretched off between two buildings. An old dumpster was pushed against one wall. With as much haste as she could muster, Tessa limped towards the metal bulk. It overflowed with garbage, and the smell twisted her stomach. Tessa covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her jacket, and crouched low to the ground. She bit her lip, fighting off tears of pain; her ankle felt as though it had been turned inside out. The sensation was familiar, and she suddenly remembered the pain that accompanied a broken wrist as a six year old. Reluctantly, Tessa sat on the wet concrete to examine her ankle. She felt vulnerable and unsafe so low to the ground, but she couldn't hold herself up any longer. She unlaced her boot, and carefully pulled the flaps apart. Her skin was red. Hesitantly, she prodded it with her finger. The pain was intense, and she quickly jerked her hand away.

"Brilliant." She laid her head against the damp wall, closed her eyes, and waited.

"Check the alley!"

Tessa's eyes shot open. She felt her muscles tense, and she forced herself to hold her breath until some of the tension dissipated. She clenched her hands into fists, trying desperately to quell the throbbing she felt there. When at last she could trust herself to move, she breathed out silently, and peered around the bin.

The group of uniformed men patrolled the street. Through the gap between the old buildings, Tessa could see them searching the doorways; she could hear them yanking on handles, inspecting each for a possible escape route. There weren't as many as before – some must have gone head, and left the others to watch the street.

Tearing her eyes from the blue-clad figures, she glanced down the alley. If it weren't for her foot, a dash for escape would have been possible; she'd already proved that she was the faster runner. But her ankle refused to co-operate, and so, Tessa found herself stranded.

She couldn't let them find her. There was no telling what would happen if they did.

Tessa pulled herself back against the wall, and shut her eyes tight. She wrapped both arms around her knees, drawing them to her chest, and making herself as small as possible. Once again, she held her breath, even though her lungs were already burning. In the silence of her mind, she whispered:

_Disappear._

Even though she knew that no one could hear her, Tessa felt stupid. This 'trick' never worked when she wanted it to – like everything else, her quirks were unreliable. But she had no other choice.

_Disappear, disappear, disappear…_

Releasing her legs, Tessa raised a hand. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, and very nearly laughed with glee.

Her hand – fingers, nails, everything – was completely invisible. Tessa smiled despite her pain.

_Thank you._

Using the edge of the bin for support, Tessa pulled herself up. She touched her left foot to the ground, and tried not to shriek. Steeling herself, she stepped into the alleyway. Her boots were loud against the cement. The cop nearest to her spun around, his eyes narrowed. But he saw no one. Tessa limped away from her hiding place, and towards the street at the end of the alley. She fixed her eyes on the traffic, stretching towards the open street.

She was almost there, when she tripped upon the uneven concrete. Both feet landed against the ground, and Tessa screamed. Immediately, her protection faded, and she found herself in plain view.

"There!"

Unable to hold herself up, Tessa crumpled to the ground. The pain wracked her lower body, and coloured the edges of her vision black. Tessa hoped that she would pass out, even though she knew that it wouldn't happen; it would be safer if she did.

The first cop was close, less than three feet away. Before he could reach her, Tessa lifted her head from the concrete. Then, scrunching her eyes shut, she slammed her temple into the ground.

_Disappear._

She could hear the men shouting, but their voices were slurred. Her body felt numb, and Tessa gave a yawn. Her eyes felt heavy, so after a moment, she let them slip shut.

* * *

"Ma'am, you can't go through there!" The man reached for Darcy's arm, but she spun away. "Don't you 'ma'am' me!" she snapped. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" She studied the agent: he didn't seem old enough to shave, let alone fire the gun that she could see hanging from his belt. "Where's Andy?" She glanced around. "This is still the station, right?" The man looked unsure.

"Mrs. Black-,"

"_Miss _Black." The man took a deep breath; had the circumstances been different, Darcy might have felt sorry for him. But they were what they were, so she crossed her arms against her chest, and waited.

"Miss Black, your daughter has been arrested for murder." His young eyes narrowed. "That's a serious charge."  
"I'm not stupid!" Darcy heard herself say. Her scowl remained stony, but inside, she could feel herself beginning to crumble.

_Tessa. Murder._

_Murder. Tess._

"Mum?"  
Darcy's head shot up. Standing at the end of the hall, was Tessa. Her clothes and hair were rumpled, and she was in handcuffs. Her left leg was in a cast, and she leant heavily on Andy Matthews, who stood beside her. He placed a hand upon her shoulder, in what could have been protection or restraint. Darcy gasped, and pulled away from the young agent.

"Tess!" She raced towards her daughter. As she drew closer, she could see blood, staining the side of Tessa's head. Reaching them, she took the girl's pale face in her hands. "What the hell happened?" She studied Tessa, searching for any other injuries. "Are you okay-,"

"Mum. Go home," Tessa cut in. "I'm fine. Just wait for me at home." Darcy released her face. She didn't smile; she simply gazed up at her mother, her eyes pointed. The green of her daughter's irises sent shivers down Darcy's spine.

_Did she get anything from me?_

"Darcy, Tess is right." Andy stepped forward. "They won't let you through here anyway." Darcy felt panic beginning to claw at her throat. "But I-,"

"Darcy." Andy held her eyes in his, and slowly, offered her a tentative smile. "I'll look after her, okay?" After the longest of moments, Darcy nodded. They'd been here before; they'd be here again. Tessa would be home in no time.

_Liar._

Tessa lifted a shoulder in a half-salute. "See you, Mum."

* * *

Tessa watched her mother walk away.  
Darcy walked slowly, as though she were certain that – at any minute – she would change her mind, and turn back. Tessa could imagine her face: pale, tired, and stricken with worry. Her mother didn't care about much – nothing much, except for her daughter.

As Darcy reached the end of the hallway, her dark curls swished out behind her. Usually, she wore it in a tail, but in her panic, had obviously forgotten. She didn't look back, and Tessa didn't blame her. Her own ink-like hair had fallen across her eyes, and she blew it away irritably. "So what now?" she asked warily. Andy didn't meet her gaze; his eyes were fixed upon the place where her mother had stood.

"Now, we wait," he replied finally. "You're staying here tonight." Tessa nodded; she'd expected nothing less. Andy's grip on her shoulder tightened. "Come on."

The pair walked together down the long corridor. Tessa's leg ached, and movement was difficult with only Andy's arm to support her. She glanced hesitantly over her shoulder. She could almost see Darcy, standing forlorn beneath the painfully artificial ceiling lights. Something tightened within her chest.

"Andy?"

"What is it?"

"I didn't mean to kill Zach."

* * *

**And now, the story shall begin. Reviews would be appreciated!**


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